Turning Point
by ArmidaLore01
Summary: Rick contemplates his feelings toward Michonne in the shower. Hinted Rick/Michonne, one-sided.


Requested by a good friend who issued me a challenge to write something other than Morgan/Reid. So here's my sorry excuse for a Richonne story. If the characterization is off, I apologize immensely; this is my first time writing this pairing. . Also, I've only watched up to episode 13 (I think) of season five, so I'm basing this one-shot from what I've seen so far. Hope you all enjoy!

EDIT: It was when my beta was reading this that she told me there was a video on YouTube that strongly resembles this fic (RICHONNE:: EARNED IT by Yemmely). I want to verify that I actually never saw that video before writing this, so I didn't intentionally take the vidder's idea. It actually is a fantastic Richonne video, so if you'd like, pop in a like for the vidder!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Walking Dead.

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He wasn't sure when it happened, when he turned to look at her and saw something _more_.

Someone other than the sword-wielding warrior that had been in Andrea's company for the better part of a year. Other than the ferocious fighter that had defended their encampment at the prison and on the road afterward, always by his side. Other than the woman that had helped his son open up, their bond so pure and getting stronger as time went on. Someone _more_.

It could have been that first time they had gone out, back to his hometown of King County, Georgia, to retrieve the much-needed guns for the impending battle with the Governor. She had not abandoned him or Carl, instead actually risking herself so protect them both. She had even put out her life on the line to step into a walker-infested building to get a _picture _for his son, simply for the sentimental value it held (Carl had guiltily told him about what happened few afterward, and instead of feeling angry, he just burst into disbelieving laughter). And afterwards, when she stopped him and asked about his experiences with talking to dead people, she did not ridicule him or pity him; she had _understood_. That could have been the first catalyst of their growing relationship.

It could have also been the day she came back from her daily search for the Governor, galloping gracefully past the entrance gates on her chestnut mare, and slid down the saddle once she cantered to a stop, handing him a razor for his wild, untamed beard. She had smiled then, her teeth impossibly bright for someone who had surely not brushed them since this whole mess began. That could also have been it.

But it just as easily could have been when she had fought him. She so desperately wanted there to be a place to live, a place to inhabit and to thrive, that she fought him on his decision to not give Alexandria a chance. He was shaky in making it, but she was firm, sure of herself and of their group's strength. She was so strong, a proud leader, an independent black beauty that somehow managed to weaken his defenses and nudge her way into his stubborn, broken heart.

He wasn't sure when she did, but she had. And he was so very, _very _screwed.

The hard part of the realization was that she didn't know that the dynamic of their relationship had shifted, completely oblivious to Rick's inner emotional turmoil. She still supported him, challenged him, and joked around with him, _smiled _at him. There was a time where once he would have returned this gradual increase of affection with platonic intentions, happy to have her as his comrade. That time was gone now, it seemed.

Rick heaved a low sigh as he stepped into the shower stall, enveloped by the warm steam and water vapor that hung in the small space, clinging to his bare skin before he even met the hot spray of the water. He groaned in appreciation as the water pressure beat on his shoulders, his chest, his back. They had showers in the prison, but the water had been cold, room temperature at best. He's learned not to take the showers for granted here, his skin feeling heavenly as the grime and muck of the day's events washed off his body.

He thought back to today. Ever since Deanna had appointed them constables of the town, Michonne and Rick had been spending a lot of time together, more so than usual. They patrolled together, they ate together, they slept in the same house, albeit in different rooms. This little arrangement didn't seem to faze Michonne, nor did it appear to content her more than she already was. She took this new job in stride, acting as deputy to Rick's natural sheriff personality.

Today had been a quiet day. Glenn and Tara had come back from a supply run with no major disruptions; Daryl had yet to come back from a recruiting trip with Aaron while Eric lay disabled in their shared home; Carl and Judith had gone to visit the elderly residents of Alexandria. Their patrol was mostly spent in companionable silence, a few snippets of conversation filling the otherwise quiet atmosphere around them.

Today, their conversation had been a light reminiscing of before, when the dead hadn't been roaming the land and remained still corpses in morgues and in the ground. The topic had been college today. Michonne had sported a half-smirk after she revealed what she had studied prior to the apocalypse. Rick had quirked a brow, a subdued chuckle trying to push past his closed lips.

"Medieval history?"

"Yeah," she had drawled, raising her chin and shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. Her walk had become more of a swagger as she paced next to him. She hadn't look at all embarrassed by her past choices; she had honestly looked like she had no regrets with her previously chosen lifestyle, and secretly he admired that. "Was actually hoping to be a professor at that same university."

He had huffed out a breath, rubbing at his stubble briefly. The short hairs had pricked him, startling him before he had remembered that his beard was gone. She had heard him, and had turned and waited with an expectant expression on her face. "Go ahead, get your jollies."

"No, no," he had waved it off dismissively with a gruff smile. "I think it suits you."

Rick remembered how she had smiled with a slow nod, almost as if she had approved of his answer, before they had slipped into further conversation.

The water continued to rain down on him, his head bowed as his hair absorbed the water and sent it trickling in large streams down the sides of his face. The felt the heat of the liquid cascading down his closed lids, past his lips, down his abdomen. He opened his eyes and blinked back the water attempting to get in. And he hesitated.

But he remembered her strong, willful independence. He remembered her self-confident, self-assured attitude. He remembered her eyes, which seemed to burn with a constant force of intensity, and her true smile, a treat in this dark, disastrous world. And then, mind and body coiling in defeat, he slowly trailed a hand over his pelvic area.

Yes. He was so very, very screwed.


End file.
